


Peep

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Masturbation, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 19:39:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8680861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir witnesses Elrond’s “alone time.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He left the towels far too long, but Glorfindel tied up the entire courtyard for training, and organizing the cleanup afterwards was no easy task. Now Lindir practically runs to his lord’s chambers, freshly washed and dried towels stacked neatly in his arms. He’s relieved to find those chambers empty—no witness to his lateness. He’s never once failed Lord Elrond in his duties, and he doesn’t plan to tonight. It’s well into the evening by the time he’s finally tucking the towels away in Elrond’s washroom.

He’s only just put the last in place when he hears the door open in the main chambers—where Elrond’s bed and study is. Lindir’s form tenses at the sound, and he wonders if he should rush out now with an apology for his tardiness or vainly hope to slink away when his lord’s back is turned. 

He comes to the door of the washroom while he’s deciding and peers through the crack in the silk curtains that bar it off. Across the room, Elrond has his back turned, the golden cape draped around his shoulders slipping down into his arms. Lindir’s fingers itch to help—undressing his lord for the night is his absolute _favourite_ duty, aside, of course, from the very rare occasion where he’s been permitted to tend to his lord’s bath. Elrond tosses his cape across the bed and loosens the collar of his robes, kicking next out of his sandals. 

There will be no escape, then. Elrond climbs atop the tall mattress, positioned against the far wall, and settles back against the elaborately carved headboard. Elrond has the most exquisite bed in all of Imladris, but, in Lindir’s humble opinion, Elrond has the most exquisite _everything_.

Elrond lets out a ragged sigh—no doubt over the troubling news of the latest orc raid that Elrohir reported this morning. The darkness of the world has been weighing heavily on Elrond lately. It always irks Lindir to see his beloved lord so weary. He would do anything to help but has yet to think of a sufficient way.

He watches Elrond spread out atop the ornate blankets, his golden robes contrasting regally against the deep crimson bedding. Lindir knows he should reveal himself—there will be no chance to slip quietly away now, and each moment he waits is more improper—but the beauty of the scene halts his movements. It’s so rare to see Elrond lounge about. One of Elrond’s strong hands rubs back along his neck, as though soothing away an ache that Lindir would love to help with, and the other plucks idly at the buttons of his robe. He pops them open one by one, and Lindir’s breath catches—this is _wrong_. He knows he should leave. But he’s always found his lord so ravishing...

Then Elrond reaches his lap, and Lindir knows he has no hope of leaving. He’s too weak. He’s too deeply in love. Elrond slips his hand into the leggings beneath his robes and pulls from it his cock, standing tall and proud in the open air. A sharp shudder snakes down Lindir’s spine—he could never have imagined this. Elrond is always so _proper._ Yet here he is, robes parted to reveal the thin line of his toned chest, holding his cock in his hand, and Lindir can see _everything_ —the delicate twist of each half-buried vein, the flushed pink hue around the foreskin, the slight arch and the sheer _thickness_ of it, so much larger than his own. His knees feel weak just looking at it. He wishes he was _closer_. If his lord had need of relief in this form, of course he would love to oblige... he should serve all of Elrond’s needs... he’s Elrond’s _personal_ assistant, and there’s no one in Imladris with his level of devotion.

Elrond withdraws the hand that’s tangled in his hair to lick across his palm. Then he drops it to his waist and wraps tightly around his shaft, long fingers spread out to cover too much—Lindir wants to see it all. Elrond gives a little squeeze and closes his eyes, head tilting back, lashes fluttering against his cheek, and a quiet but thoroughly lewd moan leaves his lips. Lindir thinks he might faint.

He’s hard as a rock. Shame fills him, but it can’t compete with his arousal. He watches, enraptured, as Elrond begins to pump his cock in steady, efficient strokes. There is no pretense. There was no forewarning. Lindir had no idea that Elrond even did this. Lindir’s never been so envious of a hand in his life. The more Elrond pumps himself, the harder Lindir gets, the more he shakes, the more he forgets himself—his mind is awash with sheer, hot _longing_ , and all he can do is drink in every second of it. Elrond is _so_ handsome, and Lindir _adores_ him so very much, and here he is, touching himself like any other, without any of the bells and whistles a lord like him deserves—he has a servant unwaveringly dedicated to his every whim; he shouldn’t have to resort to his hand—

Elrond hisses suddenly and bucks up into his palm—it’s such a raunchy sight, so strange on lord Elrond’s noble form, and it shocks Lindir to his core—he parts his own lips, and before he can stop himself, Lindir’s let loose a wild, erotic _moan_. His hands fly up to clamp over his mouth, his face horrified, but it’s too late. He can feel his face burning. Elrond pauses, glancing up and over at the curtains of his washroom.

Lindir knows he’s been caught. He really is going to faint. He totters on the spot. Elrond sits up, about to tuck himself back in, but Lindir isn’t ready to give up the view, and that’s what finally pushes him forward. He steps between the curtains with a terrible tremor. All in one movement, he storms towards the bed and falls to his knees beside it, hair slipping down to brush the floor and forehead practically against the stone. He tries to apologize but only ends up swallowing the lump in his throat.

On his second try, he manages hoarsely, “I am sorry, my lord. I am so sorry. I-I came to replace your towels, and I...”

“You saw me,” Elrond breathes. Even shocked, his voice is deep and melodious and sends another spike of _want_ through Lindir’s fire-hot body. Lindir just gulps and nods. “Lindir, rise. ...Ah, in just one moment...”

For once, Lindir doesn’t listen. He knows what Elrond needs that moment for, and he doesn’t want to wait until Elrond is prim and proper again. Instead, he jerks up, not to his full height but just enough to perch on the edge of the bed—he doesn’t dare to do more than hover precariously at the side. Again, it takes him two tries to speak, and by then, Elrond’s already shifted his robes to cover himself. Lindir finds himself staring first at Elrond’s gorgeous face, then the still-noticeable bulge at his lap. Sucking in a deep breath, Lindir tries, “My lord, I... if you have any urges that... ah, that is... I would be most gratified to, ah... aid you in any of your needs...” When he forces his gaze back up, Elrond looks shocked, and Lindir hurries to explain, “I-I am your attendant, after all—I should attend to your wants!” This is clearly the wrong thing to say, because Elrond frowns, and Lindir blushes deeply and rephrases, “N-not that it would merely be a duty; I know you have no wish to... ah... not that I would ever presume to be seen as a lover! I merely wish to please my lord...” Elrond lifts a brow, but there’s _something else_ in his eyes that pushes Lindir to finish quietly, “Please, my lord. I would give anything to lie with you in any way I could.”

Elrond sighs. He looks aside, while Lindir trembles and waits and tries not to stare at Elrond’s crotch. He can still picture it clearly in his mind. His mouth waters to _taste_ it, his hands to feel it. It’s all he can do not to straddle Elrond’s lap right now and beg to ride it. 

When he looks back around, Elrond shakes his head and mutters, “This is most embarrassing.”

“I am sorry,” Lindir repeats. “I should not have lurked so.”

Elrond waves a dismissive hand. “You were frozen with discomfort—”

“I was paralyzed with lust.”

Elrond sharply reconnects their eyes, and Lindir’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t take it back. Elrond echoes simply, “Lust.”

Lindir nods vigorously and bites his bottom lip. Elrond lets out another sigh. There’s one horrible moment where Lindir is sure he’ll be sent away for his insolence.

But then Elrond melts and says, “Fetch those new towels, Lindir. We will have need of them.” And Lindir brightly races back to the washroom, only to return to Elrond’s waiting arms.


End file.
